


01.03.2018

by Tuptaju



Category: Original Work
Genre: Diary/Journal, Gen, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-01
Updated: 2018-03-01
Packaged: 2019-03-25 17:34:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13839654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tuptaju/pseuds/Tuptaju
Summary: A short story about my ride home.





	01.03.2018

The tram is rattling as it speeds along the rails, one of its lights blinking slightly.

I am standing just a few metres from the motorman's cabin, two young, elegant women sitting to my left, two men to my right, one in his late forties or early fifties, hair grey under his cap, visibly fat; other much younger, probably still a student, reading a book and wearing headphones.

It's late, half past eight, and it's dark outside, the only light other than white from glow-tubes at the cart's ceiling being the one from street lamps, dim orange, with a halloweenish tint. It makes shadows glide across the console in the driver's cab as we pass each lamp with astounding speed.

I start to wonder whether there actually _is_ a motorman driving us, or if it's just a ghost or a shadow, with how fast and recklessly we move, how the whole cart trembles and the commuters rock slightly from side to side.

A few stops later, a radio comes on with a loud crackle, startling me.

It babbles incoherent, barely discernible numbers and orders, barking at the shadow that holds our lives. For a few seconds it stays quiet, but it starts back up with its stream of cracks and words that don't make any more sense than before. When it subsides again, it's for good.

We stop again and some people get on, but it's not many. "My" guys get up, older leaves, other gives his seat up to old lady, taking himself and his book closer to the door, pushing through the people gathered around.

We move again, speeding as fast as traffic and rails allow us to, and it's only after people clear my line of sight when I realize there's a mirror above motorman in his cabin and I can see his reflection. To be frank, it's a little disappointing when compared to the ghost I thought he was.

He's in his forties, I'd guess, going bald, his hair - where he has it - shaved almost completely, but unlike the guy that got off earlier, he's pretty slim. He's dressed in the usual driver's clothing - light blue shirt and navy blazer - in the metal cockpit. Makes me wonder whether he's cold with the -10 °C outside.

From where I'm standing, I wouldn't see the color of his eyes in normal light, not to mention how dark the mirror is with how it's angled down at him, not catching much light, be it from inside the cart or the street lamps we're passing.

I notice him looking up, as if into the mirror and our eyes connect for a few seconds - I smile at him, but he doesn't return it; I wish I knew whether he's looking at me, 5'3" of a girl, standing among empty seats, my jacket half open, hair and face a mess, typing furiously on her phone. One of the only four people aboard at this point, others having left a few stops ago, as the tram is nearing its destination.

Other three is another old lady sitting quietly behind me and two Uni students from one of my course groups, discussing something fervently, bent over a smartphone.  
We slowly come to a stop before a crossing; the driver wants to start the tram again, but he's too early and we jerk forth and backwards with inertia.  
As the tram finally rolls into tram depot, I press the button opening the door and when we stop, I stuff my phone in my pocket, get off the cart and rush towards home in the winter cold.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! :D
> 
> Original version was a bit shorter and it took me about 25 minutes to write it on my phone.


End file.
